And So It Begins
by Yukann
Summary: It starts with the Nogitsune and ends in Allison's death. Time-travel fic (kind of). Now a drabble series.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: this is it. I may or may not continue this in the future but for now, I have no plans on doing so. If anyone wants to adopt this fic, please pm me :)

It starts with the Nogitsune and ends in Allison's death. Scott looks like death warmed over, the rest of the Pack not much better and Stiles can only sit there, at her funeral and feel numb. Not even guilt seems to have penetrated through the fog that he seems to live in these days.

The nightmares come after that. The first night he's free and they come, taking over until he couldn't sleep, afraid to even close his eyes. Until he collapses out of sheer exhaustion and falls into unconsciousness.

The rest of the Pack, Scott and Lydia especially, are having it bad, or so Stiles tells himself when they don't call, text or make any remote gestures to talk to him. It's fine, he assured himself. He'd been alone most of his life after all (he hates it).

Then after the fog has lifted and he can feel again, the guilt comes, swinging into his stomach with all the force of a sledgehammer. It stays there, hard lead at the bottom of his stomach and only grows heavier each day as he glimpses Scotts pale gaunt face and Lydia's dark circles that she tries to conceal. The guilt almost crushes him.

And so like everything else he wants to avoid, he throws himself into the Internet and his computer, homework if he has some, anything to draw his mind away from the recent events that have happened. It wasn't a healthy way to cope, but it helped him. On the plus side, he did finally work himself to the point of total exhaustion, where he could just collapse and fall into so deep a sleep that dreams don't bother him.

And so things fall into a routine, Stiles absorbing everything he can research, the Pack avoids him, his dad works goes to work at the crack of dawn and comes home so late at night they practically don't see each other. Maybe it's for the better; Stiles doesn't need his father's disappointed gaze to make him feel any worse about himself.

Nothing really changes for the first two months, until Stiles stumbles upon some information about time-traveling, and then the ideas start pouring in. He'd never fancied himself the idealist kinda guy, but Stiles couldn't help but imagine the future he could have if he went and changed things. It would be better, everything was better than now and maybe the guilt would finally go away. He could finally rest in peace.

Stiles took a deep breath.

And so it began.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter hears and smells rather than sees the newcomer in his room. Considering that he can't move, it's a given that his eyes don't work very well at spotting intruders.

The boy, judging from the way a masculine musk clings to him, shuffles awkwardly into the room and closes the door softly, as if he was trying to avoid being caught.

Which was a concern considering that this boy wasn't someone Peter recognized, let alone was familiar with for the nurses to allow him in without supervision.

"Hey Peter."

The werewolf will deny to his dying breath that he does not startle at the young voice that suddenly echoes through the room.

The sudden creak on his right signifies that the stranger had taken a seat in the unused plastic chair beside the bed, and suddenly, a warm hand is covering his, thumb rubbing unconscious circles soothingly. Unwittingly, Peter goes rigid. Nobody has touched him like this since the fire a year ago.

"I'm Stiles," the boy introduced, then settled down more comfortably (as comfortable as one can get) in the plastic hospital chair, seemingly content on just wasting the afternoon relaxing with Peter in silence.

Peter remains tensed though, muscles coiled in a way that would've allowed the werewolf to spring into a defensive position in a second if he wasn't bed-ridden and partially comatose, but eventually, as the minutes, hours passed, he relaxes enough to fall into a light doze. Deep enough that he gains some energy that his powers will use for healing, but shallow enough that any suspicious movements will have woken him up in an instant even if he can't move a muscle.

It was better to greet death with open eyes rather than dying in ignorance after all.

The comfortable silence was broken when Stiles got up, stretching his muscles and giving out a huge yawn. Already, Peter could feel the warmth from his hand going away and inexplicably felt like reaching out for him again.

The chair screeches again when Stiles stands up and for the first time, he leans over Peter's face so the werewolf can get a look at his new companion.

"Bye Peter, I'll see you tomorrow," the boy murmurs, one hand brushing a stray curl on his forehead.

It was strangely intimate and Peter wanted to lean into his hand. All too soon, the boy left, his presence diminishing until even Peter couldn't hear his heartbeat anymore.

Strangely enough, Peter looks forward to tomorrow.

-0-

so apparently, this is going to become a thing. I may or may not continue this, depending on my muse so don't expect anything. And if this has any Steter feels, I blame Cywscross and her fics both here and on AO3.


End file.
